Viktor Nikiforov - the Living Legend
by BlueBoxInLondon
Summary: Figure skaters should first and foremost be able to skate to the music, to express their feelings through their skating. The struggle should be how to apply a strict step sequence to their feelings and not how to apply feelings to their step sequence! / a short insight into Viktor's mind and his struggles with depression!


_Soooooo I've jumped on the Yuri! on Ice bandwagon and I just couldn't stop myself from writing this quite sad piece about Viktor's feelings and his struggles with depression._

 _Please tell me what you think about it! :)_

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 **VIKTOR NIKIFOROV – THE LIVING LEGEND**

Every single move he made was planned, every detail of his clothes well thought out, every breath calculated; nobody could deliver this performance as gracefully as he did – Viktor Nikiforov made it seem like he owned the world.

It almost felt like the world held it's breath while he gave yet another flawless performance.

That's what he was known for, that's what he had wanted to achieve all his life – _perfection_.

Viktor Nikiforov, the five times consecutive world championship winner.

Viktor Nikiforov, the figure skating god.

Viktor Nikiforov, the _living legend._

The cameras started flashing all around him and he forced a smile, letting his gaze wander so that everyone could get a good shot of Viktor Nikiforov with his gold medal.

He was tired. He made sure to never let it show, never let down his guard but beneath the facade, he felt hollow and void and so very very empty.

He couldn't remember the last time his smile wasn't forced.

In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he felt happy.

When did he last enjoy a competition? How did he not notice that every time he went on the ice to work on his programs it made him feel sick?

Nobody else had noticed either, though. They only see the facade he puts on, they just see Viktor Nikiforov, the figure skating _legend_.

But who could blame them? After all, it was a very credible facade – who wouldn't be happy being as admired as he was?

He's got everything one could ever dream for and more – he has the life so many others envy him for; then why did he feel like there was something missing?

There seemed to be some big, black hole in his chest that he just couldn't fix. It ached and ached and with every passing day he could feel it growing.

Some nights it would hurt so much that he thought it was going to rip him apart – he would wrap his arms around his body so tightly it almost hurt in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart.

It scared him, this gaping hole, yet he could never talk about it – who would believe him? Who would even listen?

Sometimes it was as if the people around him didn't even care _what_ he said as long as he flashed a bright smile and gave them his attention.

They didn't care about him, they only cared about his _achievements_.

" _What do you have in mind for next season?"_

He froze. His mind went blank but he couldn't let them see. Instead he let his gaze fall to the table and mustered a mysterious smile, evading to actually answer the question.

At the thought of yet another season of _perfect_ routines and pretend, he felt dreadful.

The weight of the world seemed to lay on his shoulders, pushing down and burying him underneath.

Everyone expected him to deliver another flawless performance next season, to outscore himself yet again and thereby setting another world record – proving himself to be worthy of the title they've given him.

The _living legend._

All the expectations were crushing him, he couldn't even bear to think about what would happen if one day he wouldn't live up to them.

His whole world would come tumbling down. Of course, one could argue that a career wasn't the whole world, that there was so much more to life but to him there wasn't.

Viktor didn't have much of a life besides his career – he woke up thinking about training he had to get done, spent the day improving his performance and went to bed completely exhausted from doing his routines over and over again.

Figure skating was the only thing Viktor had in his life and somehow it came to be the very thing that now filled him with dread.

 _Viktor Nikiforov stood in the middle once again, having just received his gold medal at the Grand Prix Finals. He threw his arms in the air and the crowd exploded with cheers._

 _Yet another one of his previous records broken by no other than himself._

 _His smile shone as bright as the spotlights but it didn't reach his eyes – not by a long shot. The medal felt cold against his lips as he kissed it while turning towards flashing cameras._

Tomorrow there would be pictures everywhere of him holding his gold medal while grinning at the camera, apparently proud and happy.

He couldn't look at the photos. He never did, it made him feel weak.

Perhaps it was because he knew the truth but to him they screamed "fake" from a mile away.

His eyes looked empty and hollow and his smile looked more like a grimace than the smile of a winner.

Nobody else seemed to notice, though. Which was good, he thought, it was what he wanted after all – for nobody to see his pain.

Sometimes he would go to the ice rink to try and find what he was missing.

He closed his eyes and tried to skate freely, without a set program, just the way the music felt. He gave up quite soon though, it just didn't work.

It seemed like his body had forgotten how to skate, like it merely obeyed his mind or rather the step sequence he prepared – it was like a crutch.

This was not how it was supposed to be!

Figure skaters should first and foremost be able to skate to the music, to express their feelings through their skating.

The struggle should be how to apply a strict step sequence to their feelings and not how to apply feelings to their step sequence!

What happened to him?

When did he lose his passion, his inspiration, his _feelings_?

He was so angry, he wanted to cry – but he couldn't.

There was only this gaping hole inside of him, slowly swallowing him from the inside until there was nothing left of him but an empty shell – _Viktor Nikiforov, the living legend._

He could hear faint voices in the distance and sure enough a moment later, Yakov and Yuri were entering the ice rink while arguing once again about the routine Yakov put together for Yuri.

Viktor quickly fixed his mask and nodded in their direction before beginning to practise his routines for next season – after all that was what the world expected from the _living_ _legend._

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 _Don't forget to leave a comment! It would very much to me! :)_


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